Russian Roulette
by Amathist Fwirrel
Summary: What if Daxter never rescued Jak? Who is Dark Jak? How will the gaurds stop him? A short prison fic with a supernatural twist.Rated for voilence.


_**Russian Roulette**_

_**Can I point out HERE that this is not a happy story. If you are so unstable that you think anything anyone is doing would be fun to re-enact in your home/school/whatever, you are:**_

_**In need of a laywer.**_

_**In need of a straight-jaket**_

_**In need of serious help**_

_**Speaking of laywers…Don't sue me. I own nothing. Yup, nothing. Which means I can do anything to the orginal storyline…so…**_

_**What If…Daxter never rescued Jak?**_

"No!" Screamed the man, "No!" he screamed again, flinging himself at the KG guard, and socking her in the throat. She fell like a sack of bricks, whip lashing dust into the air as her body hit the ground.

Jak looked at the burly man as he trashed on the ground still screaming his head off, and felt sorry for him. He remembered feeling that, that…desire for freedom, before. But now, all he wanted was an end. Any end.

The 'escapee' was now foaming at the mouth. Jak slipped off his bunk and looked closer. His eyes were mad and staring, and it took a few seconds for Jak to realise that his pupils were the size of saucers, with only a thin rim of gold and white. What the hell was wrong with him? He'd never been part of the treatments, had he? As far as Jak knew, the Baron had given up on the other subjects. Was he starting again? Jak started coughing as dust-bunnies took flight because of the twitchy movements the man made.

Suddenly, the man suddenly went still, then whispered 'Thank you." Jak turned his back and walked back to his bunk. Somewhere behind him, on the grey, dusty floor, the man sighed contentedly. A krock-head, obviously, though Jak was stumped how he managed to get the drugs into the jail, let alone how he managed to inject himself with it. The guards didn't exactly let the prisoners run around with needles.

It was a pity, and a blessing, in someway, that Jak turned his back on the 'druggie.' Because with the man's sigh, the airborne dust was twitched into a new position. It was like some haloed being was shading in mid-air, creating a new beast to walk the earth. But the creature that it created was far from blessed. Hovering, cross legged over the fresh corpse, was a many limbed creature. And as it opened its eyes, it revealed twin tar pools that were prefect spheres. It had a head, but no face, and which was supported by a curled neck that was ribbed like a windpipe. The neck snaked down to its feet, completely unhindered by arms or torso, because it didn't have any…just a disgusting length of 'flesh'. Its legs were like the crab-head metal head, four legs positioned at the four points of the compass, but they were longer, more flexible. At each tip of foot rested three claws.

The dust-spectre stayed perfectly still, and then walked slowly over to Jaks cell, sensing the tainted elf's power. The teenager was lying curled up on the cold floor, trying to sleep, before the rest of the guards found the two bodies on the floor behind him.

And the then, the monster pounced, flinging its misshapen body at the boy, through the solid bars and into its new host, dragging both of them into a blessed bout of unconsciousness.

_It was hard to take over a beings body, especially one as determined and head-strong as this. The monster spent days, weeks, months worming its way through the layers of consciousness, using its spectral claws to grip on the inside of Jak's mind and strip away the unneeded parts. It was Two months, three weeks and a day after the Rage Imp had entered Jak's mind that it found what it was looking for – the Dark power. It was weak, a mere foetus, waiting to grow. But it had its power already, lying dormant in the Eco-beast's mind. But, to the Imp's horror, the Eco-beast lacked the drive to kill and murder, as it had taken residence in the small part of Jak's mind that, while it was in no way innocent, was reasonably caring. It would probably grow up helping the elves, and become a slave to it dominant host. It would become an eco-pet._

_But there was so much potential! It had a beautiful face, with long ridged horns that curved gracefully down its back, parallel with its long thin ear's that flopped alongside it. It was caught somewhere between a rabbit and an antelope, with definite smatterings of tiger. From one angle it looked harmless, from another…deadly, a killer. And then parasite realised that he could stop one of his own growing up into a life of slavery. _

_Every time the boy, Jak was submitted to the scientists for another round of eco shocks, the Imp would move the Eco-pet away from Jak's benign side with the added power it gave him. And as he got it further into the dark corners of Jak's physce, the less antelope-like the Eco-pet became, and the more vicious and tiger-like it developed. The Imp nurtured the Pet, teaching it the Human language, the lore of its kind, how to deceive and how to survive. _

_As time passed the Imp realised what it had in his jaws. This was no ordinary Eco-beast! It was not like him, a common Rage Imp, who only had the power to whisper dark thoughts into Elvin minds. No, this was a Prince of all it surveyed. It could, with enough effort, could even mould the body of its host in its image!_

_The Imp gleefully told this to his protégée, and how to take advantage of it. But it was here that the Imp made its mistake. It began demanding that he be given some of the Princes power, in exchange for the information it had just given. The young Prince of Pain did not take kindly to that, and sliced his mentor from head to foot-claw with one fluid movement. The imp, destroyed completely, disappeared into the inky blackness, and was never seen again, while the Prince, with its first blood on its claws, absorbed the dead imp's powers. And so, it became not only the Prince of Pain, but the Prince of Rage as well._

_Other Eco-beasts and spectres, whose hosts died near Jak, came to see the great power emitting from him. Some were foolish enough to challenge him, and were cut down quickly and without fuss. With each kill, The Prince added their powers to him: Grief, despair, spite, longing, bloodlust and persecution. The only real challenge came from two Eco-spectres, who shared their powers, named The Hate and The Hurt. They died too. But after the ferocious battle, and with his new titles, The Prince changed his name. It became The Tsar. He had no need to flaunt his powers; his reputation did that for him. All the other Eco-monsters fled at the whisper of his name, and prisoners who housed these parasites shrank back at his host's presence._

_If Jak ever realised what was happening in his mind, he gave no indication that he did._

_**Three months later…**_

How long Jak had been spread-eagled on the 'experiment's bench', feeling the eco in him buzz into nothing, he had no clue. All he knew was that a long time ago the Baron and Errol had swept out of the room and at some point, Errol would come back. Only Errol would walk out of the room alive, and Jak would be dead, probably dumped into the sewers to rot. At first, this terrified him. Death was final; there was no changing you're mind halfway through the process. He would never see Daxter, or Keria, or Samos, or anyone from Sandover ever again. More importantly, he never got to say good-bye. Even worse, none of them had ever heard his voice, not even once. It was that thought that pushed him over the edge. He began screaming, at the top of his lungs, showing his defiance and that the Baron would never break him. But he grew tired, and let it dwindle to nothing, until it was only his echo that could be heard, which mocked him and his weakness.

And suddenly, quite suddenly, Jak was sick of it all. He was sick of being strong. He was sick of the world. He was sick of hope. Suddenly, death seemed a good option. Death would stop it all from happening again and again and again. After all, he had waited for two whole years for someone to save him. And no-one came, did they?

After two whole years of pain…he was going to be free!

_Is that what you want?_

Jak smiled. His first sign of madness, and it didn't matter if he was mad. He was a dead man…why should he worry?

_You're first sign? No, my friend, that was the suicidal tendencies. Do you want to die?_

"Yes." Jak murmured. "Yes…I want an end."

_There is another way_

"No…there isn't…I've-I've tried everything."

_Won't you just let me try?_

"Why? I…I want a quick death."

"And you'll get one, Freak." Spat Errol, who strode back into the room. He acted like Jak was wasting his precious time.

_From him? You'd rather die by his hand? Wouldn't you rather have justice? Look what he's done to you!_

"Yes." Said Jak, no longer sounding tired.

"Who the hell are you talking to?" Spat the commander.

_Make him pay for all the pain_

"Yes." Said Jak, a tone of longing settling into his voice.

"You know what, boy? I think you've finally cracked." Sneered Errol, pushing his face close to his. "I'm going to…" But Errols voice was replaced with a different one.

_All these years you've been stuck here – that monster has been laughing at you, at us. At our pain. And everyone else's, hundreds have died by his hands, Jak, Hundreds! Do you want to become part of a statistic that HE can gloat over? _

"No." Growled Jak dangerously,

"Oh, are you going to stop me, Freak?" Cackled Errol, brandishing a pistol in one hand.

_He's laughing at us again, Jak._

It was an old fashioned, small, silver pistol. It had a simple design – eco goes in, bullet goes out. Its owner thumbed a catch, next to the trigger, and the circular cartridge holder sprang open. Inside one of the six 'bullet' holes, Errol inserted a single pellet of yellow eco. With his index finger, he span the cartridge holder and clicked it into place. An insane grin lit up his face, causing the tattoo's to slide into new positions.

"Have you ever heard of Russian Roulette, Jail-bait?" Asked the Barons right-hand man casually.

The disembodied voice spoke up once again, but with more menace than ever heard before. _He's toying with us, Jak_

"This gun has six chambers. One of them has a bullet in it, but we don't know which one, do we? Which means that we don't know _when _it will go off. Traditionally, someone would put the gun to their own head and yank the trigger, but this is so much more _fun_! Eh, Freak?"

_Let me help you_

"What are you going to do?" Jak asked the voice, but it was Errol who answered first.

"Put the gun here." He jabbed his finger into Jak's stomach "and pull the trigger. If the gun goes off, you bleed to death. And if it doesn't…" Errol's smirk only grew wider, "There are other, _more painful_, places to bleed to death from." He gestured over Jak's body; pausing teasingly over Jak's groin.

_I can stop him…but I need to use you, you're body to fight him off. I promise you, he will die._

The Commander raised the gun over his garish orange hair, ready to bring it down like a guillotine and fire at Jak's helpless form. For perhaps half a second he reminded Jak of some Heathen Priest of the God of War, giving a blood sacrifice to appease his master.

Which, in a way, he was.

"Do it" Said Jak, through gritted teeth.

"My pleasure." Snarled Errol.

Jak wasn't talking to him.

Errol screamed as he was knocked, then pinned to the floor by 8 inch claws that had cut through his stomach like a knife through water and now gnawed at the metal underneath. Attached to the horrible claws were snowy, skinned hands, slowly being coloured an orange-red colour by the blood gushing out of the terrible wound they had carved. Behind the two of them, the table quite literally dissolved, while the now broken needle above cascaded liquid dark eco.

The creature saw the new feature in the room out of the corner of its praying mantis-like eyes and grinned at the dying man on his claws. Slowly, deliberately, it dragged its prey over to the fountain, watching the fear plastered over the tattoo's with elation.

He left him a few inches from the edge of the platform and the fountain that continued showering dark death. The demon caught a few droplets in mid air.

Then he sauntered over and made as if to pour it over the prone commander. Errol snarled. "What, you bastard, you like causing pain?"

He was of course, unable to see the irony in the statement. The Tsar nodded.

And kicked him over the edge. Errol was too surprised to do anything and plummeted, bouncing down the abyss sides like a broken rag-doll, screaming bloody murder. The Tsar hoped sincerely that Errol would not be dead until he hit the ground….but it was a long way to fall. And bounce.

He walked over to the fountain and sat under it, absorbing the eco that was far too precious to waste it on killing THAT pathetic bag of flesh. Slowly, some security protocol took over, shutting off the eco needle, and so stopping the flow of the blasphemous dark eco. And sending in the guards.

There was a whole detachment of soldiers. All 100 of them lined the corridor, shoulder-to-shoulder hefting guns in his general direction. This was pretty stupid. They had no room to manoeuvre, and the ones at least four ranks down couldn't fire their weapons for fear of hitting one of the ones in front.

The Tsar flicked his wrist, and a whip of Dark eco lashed out, frying the first two ranks and coating the doorways with flames of dark eco. The soldiers, trapped with no-where else to go, fired at the ghostly target. Said target dropped down into the pit, hanging onto the column holding up the platform with his bare claws. And then, with deceptive ease, leapt the gap, over the platform and over the guard's heads, clasping onto the wall above the door. The guards themselves were trying to get through the door way to shoot at him, but were blocked by the unholy flames burning merrily on the metal door frames.

Above them, the Tsar pulled back his fist and channelled dark eco into it. And then thrust it forward, destroying the metal wall with deceptive ease. The clawed at the small hole he had made until it was big enough to let him through, and slid into the gap, pattering down a corridor lined with cells.

The humans held captive shrank away as he passed, fearing the apparition before them. They were suddenly glad for their cell doors.

A solider turned the corner, and saw the 'boy' dressed in rags. He looked down to open his comm. link, so he could bark an order at the young elf – but in that space of time, the darkness saw him. With his eyes flashing, he ran towards the man. The KG officer looked up at the movement, and saw the horns and claws 'Jak' was currently in possession of.

_Fuzzzshhhh –crrk! _The man's gun spat out a single shot, a bundle of electricity that hit the wall. The Tsar had already leapt into the air. As he landed, he slashed upwards with his claws, impaling the poor man's head.

Not surprisingly, the man died.

The Tsar flicked the blood off his claws and continued on his war path…through the floor. The guards below, the 80 or so left of the regiment, still trying to get out the corridor, never knew what hit them. Suddenly, the roof caved in, bringing with it half the floor above. Wires reached down after the rubble, buzzing in protest after being uprooted.

Those wires must have been important. As one, the thousands of doors in the brig were pulled open by a binkered AI system, trying to cope with a situation it wasn't designed to deal with.

The ascended Prince faced the twenty three men remaining. Many more were still alive, no doubt, stuck underneath the rubble. They stood their ground, and he stood his. The silence, more choking than the clouds of dust surrounding them, was broken, by the sound of light foot-falls speeding towards them.

"Kill it." The leader hissed. "Sod Praxis' orders. Take the fucker down."

Gunfire erupted, slapping holes in the grey plastered walls. The Tsar was everywhere at once, charging forward in a zigzag pattern, bounding off a wall, and then back flipping. As he fell, he stuck his claws out, catching a veteran solider in the solar plexus letting his claws slid between his ribs. He hit the ground and used the rolling momentum to fling the body off his fingers, into another group of guards. Kicking out with his bare feet, they connected with a soldier's skull, who was trying to sneak up behind him, and snapped his neck like a spongy twig. Turning around, still spinning, and sinking his teeth into the unprotected throat of another meat sack, then ripping it out.

The Tsar was in his element. He bounded up to another solider, and ripped off his face, from cheek to forehead and, tossing away the corpse, he darted to the side, grabbed two low-ranking prison guards who were watching him in horror, and smashed them together. A well placed kick broke another's spine.

And then he darted away, to find another gang to torment. He could finish the rest off later.

Perhaps if the demon had had to force its way into Jak's body, then the eco and his presence would have worn off by now. He would have had to fight both his opponents and himself, something that was extremely tiring. But he had taken over the body of a broken man, still fresh from the fall from pride and dignity and hope, and Jak didn't want to fight. He wanted someone else to take responsibility for once.

It…was a reasonable request, but the person he chose was the worst, yet only, being he could.

All over the prison the some brave, stupid or suicidal in-mates were rioting, fighting off the KG for the mere taste of freedom. They used there bare hands, sledge hammers from the rock breaking compounds, or guns and shock rifles from the dead prisoners or KG too dead or slow to stop them.

And the Tsar walked among them, killing anything in its path with its lethal claws, fangs and eco based attacks. Suddenly, the prisoners and the KG were fighting alongside each other, trying to fight off a common enemy, the man once known as Jak, more commonly known by his prisoner number – 143E9, and whose true identity – The Tsar, was unknown. He walked calmly, bullets simply bouncing off him, slipping into cells where men and women cowered as his graceful steps took him close, and finished their lives forevermore. Or climbing up sheer walls, to dive among the panic stricken soldiers, and unleashing dark bomb after dark bomb, until their armour burnt away. Along with their flesh.

Day turned to night, and turned to day.

Now Corpses littered the floor like pine needles in a coniferous forest, and nothing moved.

Apart from a lone, graceful figure, making sure that his victims were well and truly dead.

The Tsar was tired. His body, Jak's body, was dieing from abuse he had put it through. There was little more he could do with it, anyway. Although his host had excellent endurance, it was too small, battered and unimpressive to please him aesthetically and so, with an air of finality he began climbing the stairs.

The Tsar was still amazed that Jak hadn't fought back once. It seemed the midget had given up completely, and shut his mental eyes to all the blood-shed.

He reached the roof.

Far, far below the KG had surrounded the building, each pointing guns resolutely at the palace walls, as if they expected him to come bursting through a wall. The Tsar waited, and then gathered all the eco in his body to the surface and making it volatile, causing hives to bubble over his skin. He saw that any of the mercenaries below would make a suitable host. Which was good. He didn't have to aim at all, and with that comforting thought he jumped.

The resulting explosion when he hit the ground took out the supports of the palace and killed most of the KG facing the south wall. Jak's death was instantaneous.

And it was Jak's death, because as the former Prince hurled himself off the balcony, he gave Jak's body back to him, to feel one last surge of fear from him.

He wasn't disappointed.

_**Oohhhh, angst. Angsty angst angst. I laugh, but this one was fun to write. Getting into the mind of a supernatural being is pretty fun. Especially a homicidal one. **_

**_Intersting fact 1: I hate writing fight scenes with a passion. Not because of moral reasons, but because theyire so friggin boring to write. But you can't deny that they're good in a story, and you can't have a Dark Jak possession fic without graudious violence._**

**_Interseting fact 2: Any building in my story's that have been described in ANY amount of detail will be completely trashed / painted in blood / both by the end of the fic. _**


End file.
